Becoming Real
by Jest'lyn Tal
Summary: "Mary" never spared a single thought to what she'd do after she saved Thane Krios' life. Nothing else had mattered to her and her dubious sanity had not stretched that far. However, now that she has done the near-impossible, she has to face the consequences of manipulating not only the Mass Effect universe at large, but Thane himself. (sequel to Tangled Threads of Reality)
1. Chapter 1

Standard Disclaimers: I own nothing of Mass Effect 3 or its characters. Bioware owns. I make nothing off of this but my own (and hopefully a few other people's) amusement.

So I posted this months ago for about three days and then took it down. Re-reading it, I realize that I really do like it. So... here it is again.

1. This story will not make a lick of sense unless you read my other story, Tangling Threads of Reality. For convenience sake, I'd recommend reading it first.

2. Second off: This is not exactly a sequel. Part of the point of Tangling Threads of Reality was that the main character remained…urm… characterized mostly by the struggle of her displacement. Interacting directly with the main characters of Mass Effect was the brief climax of the story that HAD to lead to the end. Her end. Otherwise, after all, she ceases becoming "the girl" and risks becoming "Mary Sue". She only gets that name (and stigma) with her last breath.

Except… well. My imagination kept going, even after that ending. So, even though I knew that writing further meant dabbling in something that probably won't go well if I continued on… I did it anyway.

SO… for those few (those happy few!) that read the first one and liked it, feel free to call this AU. Feel free to ignore it! But, if you do read it, know that I will do my best to keep the realism I established (I hope) for the first piece AND to keep Mary Sue real enough as a character to be interesting even as she starts becoming more … of a person in her own right. SLOWLY ;) Whoa – long note! Without further burbling…

* * *

She always loved sleeping. Cool sheets, whether in soft darkness or dappled sunlight. Stretching out to the embracing lilt of white noise in the background…

But it isn't the hum of a fan that she hears as she wakes up. It is the sound of voices, of people talking and weeping nearby. She opens her eyes slowly and blinks at the ceiling lights of Huarta Memorial Hospital.

Oh.

She's dressed in mass produced standard hospital clothing. It itches against her skin as she gingerly touches her stomach. It hurts where she was shot but it's not unbearable. It's rather distant and she's thankful for the drugs that make it so. Still, she silently wonders about things until a nurse finally realizes that she's awake. They had stuffed her in a back corridor, saving the rooms for the more severely wounded.

"You'll be fine," the nurse tells her, "The bullet missed all of the vital spots. Well, mostly all of them." A reassuring smile is given to the girl.

She is surprised. She hesitantly admits that she had been pretty sure she'd been dying.

The nurse pats her shoulder, "No, no. Well, maybe. If you hadn't been found things might have been a bit touch and go. But, you were found and that's all that matters. You'll be home almost before you know it."

The girl thinks for a few seconds and decides this is a good thing. Sure, in those last moments she'd sort of gotten fond of the idea of dying. She'd been so tired and it had probably been her only opportunity to not die alone. This line of thought led to an important question.

"Was I brought in with anyone? I remember a drell?" The nurse looks confused so the girl adds, "I think he might have helped me."

The nurse has to leave to find out. The girl pokes at her stomach to pass the time as she waits. Poke. Nothing. Poke. Ouch. Poke. Ouch. Poke. Nothing.

Yes, she's eventually told. She was brought in with a Mr. Nuara. He, however, was transferred to the care of one Dr. Chakwas early yesterday. He had been stable at the time.

Stable. She didn't know exactly what being stable entailed but it was all the information she was going to get on the subject. She's not entirely pleased about that but she accepts. Stable is alive. Stable is recovering.

She spends the next few days as a contented lump. She reads a little and replays the scent and touch of Thane once or twice in her head, like a silly school girl. She grins when she does this and sometimes outright smirks for the coup she has managed to pull off.

Thane is alive. Neither Kepral's Syndrome nor Kei Lang has claimed him.

And she thinks that it is okay for her to be a little silly.

It is okay for her to be happy.

When she finally walks home from the hospital she revels in the breeze that intermittently accompanies her. She figures that this rare treat is the result of the atmospheric processors working double time to clear the last of the smoke from their filters. However, she chooses to find more personal meaning in it as well. After all, she had decided long ago that a breeze was God's way of comforting the lonely.

There is no thought of revels or comforts once she rounds the corner to her apartment, however.

Her front door, hanging off its hinges and the police "tape" crisscrossed over it steal even the ghost of those things far away.


	2. Chapter 2

Standard Disclaimers: I own nothing of BioWare or Mass Effect.

She walks through her apartment in an all too familiar daze. There isn't a room that hasn't been violated in some way. The kitchen table has been overturned and there's a spray of blood against the far wall. Every cabinet has been emptied, every drawer flung to the ground. The living room couch is shredded and the carpet boasts not only a stiffened puddle of red-black, but an abstract series of drops and smears.

Hand prints that never quite got to the doorway.

She can't bring herself to go into Nesha's room. The scent of death there is like nothing she's ever encountered before, not even in the hospital. It's fear. It's sweat. It's something slow and tortured.

It's too much.

She dully opens the door to her own small bedroom instead.

Her bed has been overturned too, and she quietly rights it. Once it's settled again, the room almost seems normal. She has no dresser, her dirty and clean clothing are in cheap crates on the floor. The bedside table has its drawer pulled out, yawning empty but there was never much in there to begin with. Just her old datapad…

Oh God.

The datapad. The data pad where she'd written out her message to be delivered to the Shadow Broker. The one where she'd detailed the Citadel's place as the catalyst and warned about the dangers of that information falling into the hands of the Illusive Man.

She bolts from the room, a choked cry at her lips. It's partially one of pain, for the abuse of a still tender wound, and partially one of rage.

Rage at herself. Rage at the universe.

She skitters down the stairs, holding her stomach, and rounds the corner into the front room. An awkward stumble is the only thing that keeps her from plowing right into the very large, very broad shouldered man standing between her and the exit.

She stares at him.

"Mary Sue?" He asks. He's wearing armor, like that of an Alliance soldier, complete with sidearm at his waist.

She says nothing and he smiles gently. "I understand this must be hard. But you need to come with me. There are some questions in regards to the deaths of your roommates."

Don't move.

Don't move and maybe he'll go away?

"Come on, now. You don't want to be arrested, do you?"

No, no she doesn't. That'd be bad. She can't be arrested. Not now.

She looks around for a way out. A way she can run.

The man has no trouble reading her intentions. He scowls and swears under his breath. Then he reaches roughly for her. She pulls away.

He's quick, though. Quick and very well trained. He's got her arm before she can react and twists it up behind her in some sort of submission hold. She screeches at the top of her lungs, breaking and struggling. Sudden pain makes her cry out even louder and then go very still.

"If you don't shut the hell up, I'll break your arm," he says darkly.

She doesn't mean to disobey, not really. She just panics. "Let me go," she whimpers.

He jerks her arm up sharply.

There's a loud pop, a cracking sound that resonates through the room, and she waits for the pain to go with it.

It never comes.

Instead, she's released and she stumbles forward. Scrambling away on hands and knees, she throws a quick look over her shoulder.

She freezes.

A shadow steps over the body of the fallen man. A very familiar shadow.

The girl stares as Thane silently scans the rest of the living room. Then he looks back at her and reaches out a hand. "We need to go," he says gravely. "Now."


	3. Chapter 3

Standard Disclaimers: I don't own ME or Thane. I do own Mary Sue - but honestly... pretty sure she's not a tempting target for copyright infringement ;)

A/N: As mentioned earlier - this is a replacement for the previous chapter three. I realized, after I posted it, that I needed to alter some stuff. Hope no one is thrown!

* * *

The girl sits in the passenger seat of a hover car while Thane Krios drives it through unfamiliar portions of the Citadel.

She pulls at her fingernails, tearing the thin keratin with mindless fervency, all the while silently giving herself a litany of reassurances.

She's okay. She's fine. Everything is alright.

She's okay. She's fine. Everything is alright.

Except, of course, she's still sitting in a car with Thane Krios.

The man is close enough to touch.

Near enough to smell.

…and she can feel him looking at her.

She wraps her arms around herself, trying hard to ignore the drell beside her.

All she needs to do is act normal, be normal, and everything will work itself out. Thane will drop her off somewhere and she will… she will…

She stops herself, unconsciously and instinctively. She can't think that far ahead. She can feel panic twisting her into something irreparable at the very prospect of it. She just needs to stay calm. If she can do that, then perhaps she'll be able to endure Thane talking to her without bursting into tears or out of existence.

Because he's bound to start talking to her at some point.

This eventuality hangs in the air for a moment.

The girl finds herself opening her mouth, throat tightening and releasing for several moments before she can get her voice to work. "W-where are we going?" she asks in a whisper.

"Somewhere safe," Thane answers her. Then he asks, "You are not hurt?"

Her shoulders hunch in, almost a flinch, and she murmurs that she's fine. She doesn't want him to ask her things. It's wrong. It's so very wrong for him to talk to her at all much less /ask/ her things.

"You… can let me off," she manages. Then she steals a glance to his thigh, unwilling to risk meeting his gaze. "I… can call security. I won't tell them about you…"

"While I appreciate the gesture, I think that would be a very bad idea," Thane says.

She wants to glance over again but chews her bottom lip instead.

"We're almost there," he continues, "We can talk more once we're inside."

The car takes a graceful turn to the left. She immediately reaches out to the door panel, grabs the inset handle and holds herself like a rock so that she doesn't shift, doesn't sway, and doesn't move any closer to him.

He notices. Of course he notices. She hunches in further, the weight of his gaze tempting her to cower.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Thane Krios tells her, "And I have no intention of letting anyone else do so either."

She's okay. She's fine. Everything is alright.

Her lips twitch upwards and the irony burns.


	4. Chapter 4

**Standard Disclaimers**: I am not the owner of Mass Effect, Thane Krios or anything Shepard-ish. Hope you enjoy the not-for-profit-story!

In some bone deep way, she still hasn't gotten over the loss of houses - true and proper buildings, with eaves and front porches. She's wistful for yards with fences and downright begrudges the loss of wooden slates and siding. Even at the best of times, living inside of the Citadel is like living inside a box within a box. It's a veritable set of Russian dolls, each embedded room more claustrophobic and anonymous than the last.

When Thane leads her to what seems to be just another doorway in a long corridor of doorways, she cannot tell if it goes to a shop, another hallway or even to a storage unit until he opens it. He tells her quietly to stay where she is, and then steps inside. She does as he asks, but wraps her fingers around the door frame as she peers in after him.

It's an apartment, which is somewhat good to know. It's relatively small but has a dividing wall that separates it into at least two rooms. Thane checks both spaces, quickly and professionally. There are no windows and no blinds to close, but he spends an extra moment off to the right, hidden by a wall, doing something that she can't see.

He walks back towards her and tells her that it's alright. The gesture he makes for her to join him has her staring at his hand and wrist. She wonders if they moved as smoothly, as fluidly, when he popped that guard's neck.

Blood flushes her cheeks and she slinks inside.

She doesn't approach the couch until he leaves it, doesn't sit down until he is filling a glass of water at the sink. She balances on the edge of the cushion, staring at her knees and the rusty crimson that has become ground into the fabric there.

That's right, she realizes. The rug had been …

A glass of water is held out to her. She accepts it with a murmur and dutifully sips. She keeps looking at her knees, though. She isn't sure whether this is because it's so horribly fascinating in its own right, or if it's just because it's safe.

"No one told you about the break in, did they?" Thane asks, "About your roommates?"

She shakes her head. "I… no. They didn't." She has the time, the presence of mind now, to be confused about this. "Maybe… I wasn't on the lease. Sussan was letting me… Maybe they didn't know to tell me?" She looks at him for confirmation.

"That sounds likely," Thane agrees. He sits down on the coffee table. He's close enough to touch her now, if he leans in. She's too distracted to realize it.

"I am sorry," he says, "It must have been difficult to discover it the way that you did."

She thinks about how corpses look. The lac k of pigment to the skin, the slackness of the flesh. The hospital has given her a frame of reference for that, so it's fairly easy to do. The attack from Cerberus allows her to layer onto that image blood, terror and twisted features. However, that's where she finds herself unwilling to continue. She can't quite mesh those images in her imagination with those of her roommates. Not without deliberately forcing the gruesome juxtaposition in a way that feels morbid and disrespectful.

She doesn't say anything.

"I had come to thank you," Thane says after a time. "For the way you helped me earlier."

She blinks, momentarily at a loss for what he could mean.

Oh. Right.

She looks down and offers a lame, "You were hurt."

"So were you," he points out.

The girl smiles then, exhaling an almost-laugh. The absurdity of Thane Krios thanking her is oddly grounding; his matter-of-fact tone calming. She speaks clearly, if not quietly, when she answers him with, "You're welcome."

There's an odd silence that follows and she fills it by taking another sip of water. She's starting to feel as if it might be alright to look at him. That's what people do, after all. She is a person, isn't she? So, she glances up. He's studying her again and that makes her shift her weight uneasily.

"The man who attacked you in the house," Thane says finally, "He was waiting for you there."

She blinks, slowly straightening, "Wait, what? Why?"

"I imagine because, while he and his companions found your roommates there during the attack, they did not find you."

He allows the words to sink in as she stares at him, just stares at him. Then he adds, "Though why Cerebrus wants to find you at all, Ms. Sue, is something I'm afraid you're going to have to tell me."


	5. Chapter 5

Standard Disclaimers: I own nothing of ME or Thane.

A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers - but special thanks to compa16 and Hawk. Without you guys, this chapter might have sat on my computer for another week!

* * *

The implications of Thane's statement first trickle and then overwhelm.

Cerberus killed her roommates.

Cerberus ransacked her house.

Cerberus now has the data pad where she detailed the future so that the Shadow Broker could manipulate it.

Her stomach tightens, constricting as if the black hole that has just been punched in the center of the universe has settled right there in her gut. She can feel it steal the breath from her lungs and threaten to suck away her sanity like so much dirty water down a sink drain. She can't help it, can't stop it. She's ruined everything and the knowledge of that twists her, compressing her into something so dense with fear and grief and loathing and horror that she's vaguely astonished when she realizes she's still standing.

But…

But…

She is still standing…

She scrambles, scratches, and struggles to pull free.

"I… I'm sorry," she begins, fragmented and halting, "I… I was trying to… I… God… It's all my fault." The words are like gears off-set from one another, grinding and gnashing. She can't make them mesh properly to propel her forward, to find a path, to move her out of this moment or explain rationally. She tries again, "I… never meant to make things worse. I'm sorry… Thane… I'm so sorry….I…"

"Tell me what's happened." The steadiness to his tone compels her calm as well as her compliance.

She wants to tell him. More than anything she wants to take everything she knows and just …chuck it away. Let someone else handle it. Let someone else deal with it. It's too much for her and she is too frightened to think straight. But it's not that easy. She's been hiding what she knows and who she is for so long that she has no idea how to do anything else. Her secrets have bled their color into her soul, shaped her, and been the kernel around which she's created meaning for herself. She isn't sure what she'll be without them, and it feels like it would take giving up all hope of wholeness, to find the words to bring them to light.

She just can't.

She hears herself stutter, "I…. I…"

His coat rustles as he places one hand on her shoulder and the other on her elbow. He guides her to sit back down on the couch and sits beside her as he does so.

Then he just waits.

Waits for her to calm down. Waits for her to find words.

It occurs to her then that everyone is waiting. She's skewed the story, ruined the plot, and the entire universe is waiting for her to start doing something, anything, to put it right again.

Except for the Illusive Man.

He's not waiting; he's sending ships to Thessia. He's informing the Reapers.

The girl swallows hard. Thane let's go of her shoulder and without thinking she grabs for his hand. Sharp. Insistent.

She can't do this alone.

And she only has one chance to get it right.

"I… know things…" she dredges up the words she used to convince Barla Von so long ago. She struggles for a lie that isn't a lie and finds it. "Flashes of things. Paths. "

So far so good, right? She looks at Thane's hand, captured in the cage of hers and hurries to add. "It doesn't matter how, really. I just do. I … was waiting. I didn't want to tell Liara anything too soon, because things change. But I was impatient. I wanted to be careful and know what to tell her so I wrote it all down."

Her voice cracks and she looks up at Thane, tone finally slipping from matter-of-fact to frantic.

"You need to believe me. Please. I can't… I can't fix this on my own. You've got to tell Shepard. She might be able to do something. But the Citadel is the catalyst. The Illusive Man is indoctrinated or nearly indoctrinated now, and if he knows that then the Reapers will come and wipe the station out." Words tumble over themselves now in a desperate babble as she leans forward, "I don't know how long it will be until the Crucible is done and I don't know how you protect the Citadel during that time but… it can move, right? So…. Move it. Get Shepard to get them to move it now and there's still a chance, Thane…"

She begs him until words fail her once more.

He looks back at her, meeting her gaze.

…and there's nothing, nothing at all, to be read in the impassive wall of his expression.


End file.
